Love Is The Tact Of Every Good,

And Hence The Poet Must Seek To Be Essentially Anonymous, He Must Die A Little Death Each Morning, He Must Swallow His Toad And Study His Vomit As Baudelaire Studied La Charogne Of Jeanne Duval.

Time Is The School In Which We Learn, Time Is The Fire In Which We Burn.

I Admired My Father Very Much... At The Age Of Sixteen. But Now I See That He Was A Brutal And Cruel Man, - But Not Without Remorse, And That Was What Tortured Us, His Alternations.

I Am A Book I Neither Wrote Nor Read.

At The Moment I'm So Exhausted That I Feel Like Cutting My Throat, So The Next News Masy Well Be That I Am Across The River And Under The Trees: What Is The Meaning And Purpose Of Life? Death.